


Mūënrhal Csðennū-phëä

by Cân Cennau (gwenynnefydd)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Actual Communication Skills, Addressing Past Hurts, Canon Backstory, Closure, Disabled!Julian Bashir, Enjoinments, Fluff and Angst, Intersex!Kelas Parmak, M/M, Other, Party, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 08:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16828753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenynnefydd/pseuds/C%C3%A2n%20Cennau
Summary: After twenty years, Kelas and Elim finally get enjoined. But there's always drama at a wedding, and an old friend returns to explain himself.





	Mūënrhal Csðennū-phëä

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in 2401. Contains references and spoilers for David Mack’s “Section 31: Control” and Una McCormack’s “Enigma Tales”. For more information on the Cheða conlang, a guide is available [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14845317/). 
> 
> Originally published in the 2018 zine "Uncertain Times". Hover over the text to get translations!

__

_Julian,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. It has been several months since you left Cardassia - spirited away into the night, without so much as a whisper. You were, of course, free to go as you pleased, but even a note would have been more than what you left. I had thought perhaps you would stay a while, with Kelas and I, and find a new home on Cardassia. I had thought, perhaps..._

_Well, it is of no consequence now._

_The reason I write to you is to notify you of my enjoinment to Kelas – after twenty years together, this announcement is perhaps long overdue. You are, of course, fully welcome to join our festivities, and it would be good to see you once more – although I must warn you, we may be relying more on the Universal Translator than you are used to. Since moving to Indar, Kelas and I prefer to speak in their native Cheða, and I’m afraid I’ve rather let my understanding of Standard and your native Beja fall out of use._

_Nevertheless, I do hope to speak with you – it would be good to see you after all this time._

_Yours,_

_Elim Garak_

_~~~~~_

Kelas was now enjoined to him, and Elim could scarcely believe it. Enjoined, in a pared down but beautiful ceremony, though not as much as Kelas would’ve liked – had Kelas had their way, they’d both would’ve enjoined at the local State registry before enjoying a good knees-up at the local _channarhchna_ bar, or other alcohol-serving locale. Luckily Elim was there to inspire _some_ kind of romantic spirit inside them, and instead they had a small ceremony out on the Lūëmmrh-Enūðarh, the mirror salt plains, _before_ going to one of the many _channarhchna_ bars that enroached on its edge. And, of course, Kelas’ Northern friends insisted on at least celebrating in the traditional Cheða style – that is, throwing several parties both in the run up and following the ceremony. Luckily, they were not required to attend all of them, or Elim doubted he would’ve been sufficiently alive to attend his own enjoinment ceremony. This was the third (and hopefully last) party of the enjoinment ceremony, where friends and family welcomed them home after their time spent in seclusion immediately following the ceremony. The local _channarhchna_ bar had been all too happy to host the finale of their enjoinment, and had decorated the back garden place beautifully – Elim sat on a bench on top of a wood-like platform, raised above the inches of salt water that created the mirror mirage, the platform edged with gentle blue-green fairy lights, and connected to the others by way of boardwalks. On some of the other platforms were drinks, food and personal translators, as well as a basket of blankets to ward off the night air chill. The starry sky glimmered down on them, Cardassia’s three moons reflected in the floor, creating an ethereality that Elim’s mind could scarcely comprehend, and the scene was made ever more magical by the gentle music that filtered through the air.

Their party guests were similarly enjoying the celebration. Kelas was currently trying to teach Norvo Tigan how to do a traditional Cheða dance move, whilst Ezri watched and laughed from the sidelines – Elim wasn’t entirely certain if he was more concerned that he’d managed to invite yet another Tigan into their social circle, or that Kelas had somehow adopted yet another reformed murderer into it, but either way Norvo lived only a few miles away, in the deepest part of Indar city, came to tea once a week, and was therefore invited. Stood a little away from them was Arati Mhevet, distinctly Federation in dress, engaged in animated conversation with her wife, Reta, and Jake Sisko, who had finally given up his garish-patterned clothes for something a little more fashionable. Other groups stood and played and talked, some on raised platforms as he was, some in the water. The O’Brien family had claimed a platform to themselves, and even in her heavily pregnant state Molly was up and dancing with Kirayoshi. One of Kelas’ oldest friends, Merhū-Emëūäl, lay on his own platform, playfully tickling their gaggle of grandchildren. Rugal Pa’dar and his partner sat a little aways from the main centre of the party, curled together under a complementary blanket, quietly watching. Neither Kelas nor Elim had invited family – Elim’s were all dead, and Kelas didn’t know where any of theirs were – but to have their friends there was a family in and of itself.

Julian had not made it to any of the celebrations.

“[Csenðða, Elem](Tired,%20Elim?)?” Suddenly pulled out of his own thoughts, Elim turned, and met the gaze of Kelas Parmak, his spouse – _spouse!_ \- who was proffering a blanket in one vitilligo-dappled hand, evidently having tired of dancing.

“[Chema mfanða, nȳrhng-sȳëma-näënneðrh.](I%E2%80%99m%20alright,%20my%20dear.)” Elim replied, accepting the blanket with a smile. “[Chūärh-chūnð zrhemg-tsëämgtserha-sëäma-nëäū naphlm-tsamgna nenðarh-chëū-ammäūn](Just%20taking%20a%20break%20from%20the%20crowd.).”

Kelas nodded in understanding, before taking a seat beside him, hooking their cane over the lip of the bench. Elim wrapped the blanket around the both of them, pulling Kelas under his arm and holding them close. From their vantage point on the raised platform, they watched as their friends and family danced and played in the salt water, the starry reflection of the sky blurring and distorting with each ripple and splash. Elim turned, and pressed a kiss to Kelas’ neatly braided hair, where the skin split from colourless white scale to dark grey charcoal, taste-scenting their many layers of fragrant _pact_ and the lingering smell of sour-sweet _channarh,_ feeling calm and content. The gentle music, a mixture of songs from all corners of the quadrant, soothed him, and he found himself humming along to the ones he knew. Kelas’ fingers drummed the beat of one particularly catchy song on the curve of his belly, and Elim smiled, laughed, and pressed his nose to the dip of their forehead spoon, their _chufa,_ warm and affectionate.

“[Sūðn… sūðn-nūrhchūn-sūëma-näū, Elem.](I%20am%E2%80%A6%20I%20am%20sorry,%20Elim.)”

The murmur could scarcely be heard above the soft music, but Elim’s trained ears picked up Kelas’ admission readily, and he frowned.

“[Nūrhchūn? Ennamg-ūnaf?](Sorry?%20About%20what?)”

“[Chū-mūërh na-tsäȳmg-csūërhȳðe-nūëtsach Jäūlëän. Sūðn-mūūnm-sëūma-netsach nȳrhng-jȳema-ðäūnlūrh, jngū-ȳmūmrhū-ðema; äënð-ðä-näëtsach chūrhäël.](That%20Julian%20was%20not%20here.%20I%20know%20his%20presence%20would%E2%80%99ve%20been%20important%20to%20you.)”

“Ah.” Elim sighed, his arm tightening around Kelas’ shoulders. “[Chema mfanða. Na-säūðn-csȳūrhmn-sȳëma-jema-nätsach csūërhðe.](It%E2%80%99s%20alright.%20I%20did%20not%20expect%20him%20to%20come.)”

“[Na?](No?)”

“[Na.](No.)”

Elim paused for a moment, and gathered his thoughts, trying to explain in a way that Kelas would understand. Kelas, somehow instinctively understanding the silence, waited, allowing Elim to finger and twist their braids as they thought.

“[Sūðn-ðūä-näū chūärh-mūërh mūënrhal-Phūämanȳū,](There%20is%20a%20Human%20tradition,)” Elim finally said, softly. “[Ennamg-zrhëämg-tsërhänmach-näū chū-būëä-tsrha.](of%20telling%20the%20bees.)”

“[Bëä-tsrha?](Bees?)” Kelas laughed, their wedding band glittering on their tongue. “[Elem, äënð-naphlm-ða-ðäëma-nëäū fannel na-tsäȳmg-şȳnnche-ðäëma şfanchna-marhū-ma?](Elim,%20are%20you%20certain%20you%20haven%E2%80%99t%20drunk%20too%20much%20spiceberry-wine?)”

“[Chūärh-mūënrhȳð.](Maybe.)” he smiled. “[Mgar-säūä-Phūamanȳū-tsrha sūðn-tsūrhenmach-näū nȳrhng-jȳëtsa-bëä-tserha ennamg-näȳz-chrhäëȳl-tsarha. Ðūrhach-tsūrha, csannechð-tsarha...](Some%20humans%20tell%20their%20bees%20of%20important%20days.%20Enjoinments,%20deaths...)”

"[Jūlëän-phūëä?](And%20Julian?)”

“[Phanð-narhäëlmaz-nūäm, mgar-Jūälëän sūðn-ðūa-nëäū nȳrhng-sȳëma-bëä. Csenða-zëä-jëäma-näū tsrenmach-jema ennamg-chū-lūërh-ammenrhfa-tshra, mūënrhȳð-phūëfa csanð... csanð-phrhamlenech-läër-jëäma-nūäng.](In%20a%20metaphorical%20way,%20Julian%20is%20my%20bee.%20I%20should%20tell%20him%20of%20these%20things,%20or%20maybe%20he%20will...%20fly%20away.)”

“[Oh, nȳrhng-sȳëma-Elem-nanneðrh...](Oh,%20my%20dear%20Elim...)” Kelas leant up for a comforting kiss, which Elim returned gladly. Kelas had always been the more pragmatic of the two of them when Julian vanished. It was Kelas who contacted their extended activist network in search of him, whilst Elim went the more official, diplomatic route. It was Kelas who comforted Elim when it appeared the worst had come to pass, and it was Kelas who’d shown anger, _true_ anger when it turned out Julian had returned to Andoria and was in fact perfectly fine. Kelas had never truly understood why Elim continued to write to Julian, after he had hurt them both so, but they tried their best to be supportive, which Elim appreciated. There was no easy way to explain to them how he felt like something had been torn from him the morning they found Julian gone, and no easy way to explain why he kept seeking closure from a man who ignored every letter. He tucked Kelas’ head under his chin, and gazed out over the salt plain, deep into the reflection of the night sky, melancholy but soothed by his spouse’s affection.

It was then he noticed that there was someone in the shadows, hidden on the very outskirts of the lights.

Elim looked a little closer. It was not someone he knew from the wedding guests - he had seen every one of them enough times to recognize them by sight. The details of their dress and appearance were shrouded by the shadow, but Elim could see the soft glow of a hoverchair reflected in the salt water. Only three people in his social circle used hoverchairs, and Elim could discount two of them immediately - Veelak, a Romulan friend, was home on Romulus, and Ista Nemeny was on the other side of the garden. That only left…

No.

It _couldn’t_ be.

“[Ūnaf-äënað-jrhelmg-ðema-näū, Elem?](What%20do%20you%20see,%20Elim?)”

Kelas, noticing his distraction, turned to follow his gaze. Elim doubted he’s be able to see the visitor - Kelas was partially colour-blind, and probably couldn’t distinguish the colours. With a slight groan, Elim disentangled himself from the blanket and rose to his feet.

“[Mannech-emgna, Chelas.](A%20late%20arrival,%20Kelas.)” Elim said, to his spouse’s slightly confused look. “[Nenneja-tserha-sūä…](One%20moment...)”

The water was cold as he stepped off the platform into the mirrored fluid, but Elim paid it no mind. He was silent as he approached the stranger, his feet barely making ripples in the water, and yet the stranger knew of his arrival, and turned their hoverchair to face him. There was no mistaking him now - the boyish smile was now long gone, but Elim still recognized him, and recognized the tuxedo he wore. Brief memories of Deep Space Nine flickered at the back of his mind - the holosuite, lunches, literature, pain, adventure, spies...

_Julian_.

_“_[Afimauwḁ.](I%20hope%20you%20are%20well.)” Julian said softly, nervously, and Elim’s mind suddenly snapped back to the present. He smiled in greeting, before pulling a personal translator from his pocket and offering it to Julian.

“I’m afraid my Beja isn’t as good as it was when you first taught me it.” Elim said, once Julian had placed the personal translator in his ear. “And my Standard has never been the same since I retired from the Ambassadorship.”

“Then you shan’t be too ashamed of me when I say I haven’t kept up with my Cardăsda.” Julian smiled, a little bashfully. “Nor do I speak any Cheða.”

“Then I suppose we must handle whatever the translator spits out at us.”

With a gesture of Elim’s hand, they both started wandering along the perimeter of the garden, Elim walking through the water, and Julian hovering beside him in his hoverchair. They clung to the very outskirts of the garden, as if by unspoken agreement to keep their meeting clandestine, hidden. The other guests did not seem to notice their presence – Elim noticed Keiko O’Brien look in their direction, but if she noticed them, she did not raise a hand in hello. The shadows afforded them some privacy as they walked, silent except for the gentle whirring of Julian’s chair.

“I admit,” Elim finally broke the silence. “I did not expect you to be here.”

“I didn’t either,” Julian murmured in reply. “I didn’t know that I would come, especially after... well, after I left.”

“Mmm.” A pause, then-

“I am... sorry, you know. You deserved better. You and Kelas deserved better from me.”

The sting of Julian’s abrupt departure hadn’t abated, even after ten years. “You know, you were welcome.” Elim said, quietly. “You were welcome to stay. Our hearts were open to you-”

“I know.” Another pause, longer this time.

“I do not begrudge you for leaving. You had every right to leave, if you wanted. What I begrudge you for is for _fleeing_. You barely replied to any of my letters until you and your lover came begging for my protection, then you stayed for five years, three years in a coma, before you spirited yourself away in the middle of the night, only a note to explain where you were going and to keep in touch, then continued to not respond to any of letters for ten years- ten _years_ -”

“Do you not think I haven’t tortured myself over that?” Julian interrupted. “I was _ashamed_ \- still am ashamed!”

“Ashamed of what?”

“I-” Julian sighed, and tugged at his hair. “For leaving you. For making the decisions I did. That’s what gets me the most.”

Elim stopped as they reached the farthest corner of the garden, and Julian maneuvered his hoverchair around so they could speak face to face. From this angle, Julian seemed much older, much more tired, with deep crevices where a smile once had been, and his hair greying and receding despite his still fairly young age. Elim sighed, suddenly even more exhausted than he had been only a few moments earlier.

“Why did you come here, Julian?” Elim asked. Julian sighed again, and looked away.

“I came to congratulate you.” he murmured. “Honestly, I swear I did. You and Kelas are wonderful together.”

“Thank you.” Elim tilted his head a little to the left. “But that’s not the only reason.”

“I… no. I guess I was looking for closure too.”

“And you decided my enjoinment was the time to find it?”

“Call it a Human tradition - there’s always some kind of drama at a wedding.”

Elim shook his head, hiding a smile. “That’s one tradition I haven’t heard of.”

“I suppose it’s the one tradition most Humans try to avoid. I suppose for good reason.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“Here I am.” Julian tugged his hair again, rueful. “I thought that maybe seeing you too together without me would bring me some kind of closure. That knowing that you chose the better man would mean I could finally move on.”

“But I didn’t _choose_ between you and Kelas. I never wanted that decision.”

“I know. Maybe that’s why it didn’t work.” Julian paused, before beginning to move his hoverchair back. “I’m sorry, this was a mistake. I should-”

“Wait.” Julian stopped moving, and Elim stepped forwards towards him. “Julian…”

“Yes?”

“Why did you leave?” When Julian looked away, Elim pressed on. “Julian, please. You owe me- you owe _us,_ Kelas and I, some explanation at least.”

“I don’t think there’s going to be an answer to that which will satisfy us both, I’m afraid.”

“Nevertheless, I would like to know. Think of it as _my_ closure.”

“I…” Julian seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. “It’s… difficult to explain. You… you already know I am genetically enhanced.”

“I do.”

“Well, it comes with… baggage. Not health-related baggage, but... emotional baggage. I couldn’t be myself - I had to be what my father and mother intended me to be, this perfect, improved being. I had to pretend for so long that I was something I wasn’t, that I was… acceptable.”

“Acceptable?”

“Yes. That I was this normal man, doing ordinary masculine things.” Julian laughed. “For all advances Starfleet has made, gender roles are remarkably persistent.”

“Hmm.”

“But, yes. And then there was this desire to be… something beyond an Augment. All I’d ever heard about Augments that we were war mongering, that we would ruin society. I wanted to… prove myself, to be the hero, to save the non-Augments so they’d accept me.”

“Now those awful spy holo-programs make sense.”

“Yes! James Bond was who I imagined I should be like - masculine, roguish, confident, getting all the women… And then I met you.”

Elim’s lip curled into a smile. “And I was as far removed from that paragon of masculinity as I could get.”

“Mmhmm. The Academy tends to attract men like me - you were different, and you knew so much. Or, well, you _made out_ you knew so much.”

“One of my finer points, I assure you.”

“I guess that was the draw of it. Not only interest in who you were, but the risk- the _thrill_ of knowing that you probably knew enough to out me…”

“And this is related to our current predicament…?”

“It’s related because… because I fell in love with you. And that was what terrified me the most, that despite everything I did to be ‘acceptable’, I fell for you.”

“I thought that… fear of same-sex attraction had vanished from Earth?”

“Oh, it has - _if_ you’re a certain kind of queer person. The unassuming kind, or the camp kind. By falling in love with you, I… transgressed that expectation.”

“And that was why you left?”

“Yes. Back on Deep Space Nine, I distanced myself from you. I tried to develop ‘acceptable’ friendships, with O’Brien, tried to be the hero again, tried to be the hyper-masculine person I was supposed to be. I… I tried too hard, invested myself in something I couldn’t be.”

“Hmm.”

“I mean, just look at how I dated. I kept picking women who were also my patients, moving them off to other doctors so I could date them. It… wasn’t right, it never was, but these women saw me as the hero who saved them, and that’s what I wanted.”

“And is that what you thought you were, all these years? A hero?”

“Not anymore. I left you, and tried to pretend I was. I dated Ezri, then Sarina, and then…”

“And then you came to us.”

“At that point I was convinced I had it all. I was the hero superspy, my lady on one arm, the James Bond I had always dreamed. I ignored your warning, because how could I fail? I was what I wanted all along - I was _acceptable._ ”

Julina shook his head. “I was wrong. I saved the day, but so much was lost. Decisions I should have made, choices I made poorly. And.. and Sarina died because of what I did.”

“Sarina chose to be there, with you.”

“That wasn’t how I saw it. And then, I woke up at your place, three years in a coma, and realised that I’d failed again. I was not the hero I needed to be. I was a fraud.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Elim’s voice was soft, careful. “You have a good heart, Julian. You did what you thought would rid the world of Section 31, and of Ureai.”

“But I didn’t do it in the way I expected to. I was supposed to come flying out of there, gun in one hand, Sarina in the other. And I didn’t. And then, staying with you… all those feelings I had fled from came rushing back. I couldn’t cope.”

“So you left.”

“It was too much. I was faced with a reminder of my failure everytime I woke up and saw you. You and Kelas - I cannot tell you how jealous I was of _Kelas_.”

“You’d be surprised to know they were equally as jealous of you.”

“Really?” Julian laughed. “Kelas reminded me of the doctor I could’ve been, had I not been so _stubborn_. And then that… _threat_ , seeing them as a threat, got all mixed up with my feelings of wanting to stay with you both, as a partner to both of you. So I fled.”

“And didn’t write at all?”

“No. I was ashamed for running away, but I couldn’t tell you. I felt like you wouldn’t understand. And in time, I realised that my reasoning really _wasn’t_ understandable. And that… that’s why I came here. Now. So I could accept the mistake I had made. And move on.”

“I understand.” And, in a way, Elim did understand - the craving to be accepted, the desire to be perceived as a hero. How ironic it was then, that the man who had taught Elim so much about himself, had felt the need to close himself off! Elim shook his head. Julian had never had the experiences he had - whilst Elim largely lost the desire to be heroic, through the mostly painful influence of Cardassian politics, Julian had never been punished for his hubris. Human culture had rewarded him, rewarded him for hiding his true self and presenting the hero they had wanted, and it was only now when he had lost so much that Julian had finally realised what he had lost.

“Did you find your closure, Julian?” Elim asked, after a few moments of silence.

“I think so.” Julian replied, quietly. “For years, I had this dream that I’d come back, and you’d accept the new me, and I could live with you and Kelas again. I had to come here to prove to myself that I had hurt you both, and that I had to move on.”

Elim sighed. “You know how hard Kelas finds it to trust after...”

“I do.”

“You broke that trust. I cannot explain how… how that harmed them. I can’t let you do that to them again.”

Julian winced. “I’m sorry.”

“And I…” Elim shook his head. “I have been giving you chances for several decades. I don’t think I have the energy to offer another.”

“That’s... understandable.” Julian looked out across the salt plain, across to where Kelas sat alone, wrapped in a blanket, watching the sky. “I am… sorry, you know. I did not intend for you to be hurt.”

“Yet, that’s what happened.”

“I know.” Julian shifted in his hoverchair, and sighed. “I don’t want your forgiveness. God knows I don’t deserve it. I just…”

“Hmm?”

“I just want to wish you both the best. You both deserve it.” Julian gave him a slight smile. “I’m glad you found them, Garak. I’m glad you found someone to be vulnerable with.”

_Unlike you_ , Elim thought sadly to himself, but he did not voice the thoughts aloud. Instead, he asked; “Will you stay for the end of the celebration? The O’Briens would welcome a chat with you, I think.”

“I… no. Thank you for the offer, but I’d rather not right now.” Julian shifted in his chair, and pressed a few buttons. “I’m catching the early flight back to Andoria tomorrow morning - I should go back to my hotel, and rest.”

“In which case, I bid you farewell.” Elim raised a pal, and Julian smiled, before greeting it with his own. “Do stay in touch this time.”

“I’ll try.” Julian lowered his hand, and with one last look around, he turned his hoverchair, and glided across the salt plain, fading rapidly into the darkness. Elim watched him leave, with a slight feeling of melancholy, before turning and heading back into the garden, towards Kelas, removing the personal translator as he went. Kelas opened the blanket for him, and he gratefully joined them under it, pulling them close to press a warm kiss to their cheek, before settling into an embrace. The warmness of Kelas’ soft, plump body pressed close to his was a source of great comfort, and he smiled a little into their hair.

“[Chūärh-mūërh sūðn-ðūä-näū Julean, na?](That%20was%20Julian,%20no?)” Kelas asked, once he’d settled. “[Na-tsäȳmg-şa-säëma-netsach jrhelmg…](I%20couldn%E2%80%99t%20see...)”

“[Sūðn-ðūä-chema-näū.](It%20was.)” Elim replied. “[Sūðn-csūërhðe-jema-netsach nūrhchūn, arhennech-phȳä ȳmmrhū-nȳrhng-sȳëtsa-äūmȳëänne.](He%20came%20to%20apologize,%20and%20to%20wish%20for%20our%20happiness.)”

“[Na-zarhemg-ëūrhð-jema-nëäū?](He%20isn%E2%80%99t%20staying?)”

Kelas turned to look at him, and Elim shook his head.

“[Na. Tsȳmg… tsȳmg-phȳrhamlnech-jëäma-netsach. Chūärh-ðūëch na-säūðn-jrhaūlmmenna-säëma-chema-nëäū.](No.%20He%20has%E2%80%A6%20he%20has%20flown.%20But%20I%20do%20not%20regret%20it.)” In response to Kelas’ still-concerned frown, Elim pressed a light kiss to their lips. “[Sūðn-fūännech-jëäma-nëäū. Chūärh-phūä sūðn-chūärhmað-sëäma-jema-nëäū.](I%20have%20you.%20And%20I%20love%20you.)”

“[Csūnðe-zūä-ðëäma-nëäū - sūðn-zūä-sëätsa-netsach mjetsnennam!](I%20hope%20you%20do%20-%20we%20did%20just%20get%20enjoined!)” Kelas’ eyes were sparkling with concealed mirth, and Elim elbowed them. With a slight laugh, Kelas laid their head on Elim’s shoulder, and said; “[Sūðn-chūärhmað-sëäma-jema-nëäū-zeşşe.](I%20love%20you%20too.)”

And that, Elim supposed, was all he needed to hear in the end.


End file.
